Guest Post: A Lash of Hope

Cancer. Oh, that this word would become no more earth-shattering than hearing “chicken-pox” or “measles”.

A single eyelash has never held so much significance before.

Our foster baby was losing all his hair as a side-effect to the chemotherapy he was receiving but this one remaining eyelash stuck tight.
For weeks and weeks that have turned into months, we’ve done everything possible to ease the suffering of our little guy.

If only I could take his place.
If only I could give him his daily injections without pain.
If only I could reduce the anxiety that comes as soon as he sees a nurse or doctor.
If only Adam and Eve had never turned their backs on God the Father, there in that perfect garden…

One single eyelash that refused to give up.

It has since fallen out, but with only two more cycles of treatment (we hope) there will soon be fresh ones to take it’s place.
Life will be sweeter again. Normal again.
But little things will still symbolize eternal meaning.

Hope; in an eyelash.
Love; in a touch.
Joy; in a smile.
Peace; in a baby’s sleepy breathing.
Faith; in the rising of each day’s sun.

God who rules Heaven sees each eyelash that falls.
And He knows the significance of little things.
And He cares.

—

Mary Margaret Gascho describes herself as “an ordinary, unremarkable woman whose broken heart was breathed back into existence by the extraordinary, incredible love of a relentless, passionate God.” She’s raised 5 kids as well as more than 2 dozen foster babies/toddlers, and has graciously allowed me to republish this piece from her archives.

I'm Gina Munsey, a Jesus-lover and a sojourner; a weaver of words, anchored in hope. I am Mexico-born, Eastern Europe-raised missionary kid who ended up being a Californian in Orlando, Florida. I live my humidity-drenched days full of coffee and adventures while my 6-year-old learns Mandarin Chinese and my artist-husband creates worlds from pixels and light. I'm an editor, a magazine contributor, and a writer who has only completed four chapters of my languishing manuscript. On any given day, you can find me in the middle of [home]school surrounded by stacks and stacks of books. Oh, and the name of this blog? Oaxaca -- wuh-HA-kuh -- is in Southern Mexico, where I was born! (See full bio).